Final Hours
by petite-dreamer
Summary: It's always darkest before the dawn of a new day.


12:00 AM

It scares Jim. It really, really does. He'd never tell any of the others, but that face stretched to swallow the world whole makes him want to run home, grab his stuffed Chu-Chu and hide under his bed until everything bad goes away. But he has the sinking feeling the bad might not go away this time.

He also has the feeling that, as a Bomber, it's his responsibility to do anything that can possibly be done to help. He and his fellow members spread out and canvas the whole town, trying to convince anyone who's left to evacuate while there's still time – or, if they won't leave, to at least move indoors to the sturdiest room they can find. _Just like Mom taught_, Jim thinks, even if that was for twisters.

As he passes through the western part of town, he spots a flash of color against the doom-dark evening. The kid with green clothes that joined a couple days ago – Link, that's what his name was – is walking across the plaza toward the gate. He is not running or glancing up and cringing in terror; he is striding with calm focus and purpose, and Jim gets the feeling he's off to do something very grown-up.

Though it should comfort him that someone seems to know what they're doing, Jim only feels like his last excuse for being scared – his age – is gone, and now he is simply a coward. Trembling, Jim turns and flees for what little protection can be found in brick and stone and an old man's telescope.

1:15 AM

Mutoh has supervised this carnival since he was younger than his own sons. Over the course of decades, he has seen nature muster all her weapons for the weekend of the event: blustering gale-force winds that collapsed the festival tower, monsoon-like rains that covered the south end of town in 14 inches of water, a freak hailstorm that shattered windows and dented the Clock's bell. And in response, he has driven the Carnival Committee to rebuild and restore in record time, often overnight. He has never surrendered. He has never failed.

Now he stands at the foot of a festival tower that is complete only because he finished it, in a town filled with decorations but empty of workers. They've gone soft, all of them - and for a superstition like this? He burns with the indignity of it all, and that rock up there is the only target left for his vitriol.

"If you're gonna fall, then fall already!"

"Mutoh!" The call comes from Viscen, who holds a hastily-assembled pack and has the gall to look concerned.

"Running away, are you? _Captain,_" Mutoh spits. The mocking use of rank is full of scorn and contempt, but Viscen doesn't react, doesn't even look ashamed.

"I am. Are you sure you won't also come?"

Mutoh's chisled scowl is deep as he spouts a new stream of insults directed at the honor and respect of the solider, his workers, and every other yellow-belly in this godsforsaken town. Viscen leaves, but the torrent of curses continues. Mutoh is not stubborn. Mutoh is not a fool.

Mutoh is _right_.

2:30 AM

After hours of searching, Cremia finds Romani atop a hill, facing towards town and the monstrosity that looms over it. Her sister's bow is strung up and, as Cremia watches, Romani aims towards the rogue moon and fires; the shot arcs through the air before falling pitifully short only a few yards away. She's been at it a while, if the amount of arrowheads glinting in the moonlight is any indication.

"Romani!" she calls, the stress and worry of this night straining her voice with something like frustration.

Romani turns, sees her, and turns back to let off one more arrow before she scurries to her sister.

"Let's go; we should have been in the cellar hours ago," Cremia admonishes. "What were you doing up there?"

"Waiting for Grasshopper," Romani says.

The answer is so bizarre that it takes Cremia a moment to place the nickname with a face. Disaster looms, and her response is to place utter faith in someone she met two days ago? How like Romani. "I think this is too big even for him, sweetie."

"Nuh-uh," Romani insists as they walk back to the house. They pass the stable, and the boy's little filly nickers restlessly. Romani trots up to the gate and pets the Belgian's nose. "You know, don't you Epona? He saved the cows and he saved Sissy's milk and he can save the town, too. And tomorrow we're gonna wake up and go to the carnival and see Sissy's friend married and eat lots of cake and ice cream."

Cremia is suddenly struck by envy for the utter confidence Romani holds and has to shove aside a cruel impulse to shout and shake all that irrational hope out of her. Instead, Cremia takes her sister's hand and tugs her away. "Come on, sweetie. What do you say we break out some of the Chateau Romani?"

Romani bounces a little with excitement. "Really? Can we make a toast to Grasshopper?"

The strained smile Cremia gives her doesn't reach her eyes or voice. "Why not."

3:45 AM

Aroma sits at the bar with her Chateau Romani, postman dismissed, his final delivery in her hand.

Kafei is alive and well.

She lays the letter down and tilts the goblet in her hand, watching the milk swirl back and forth. The relief that her son was not abducted or killed. The worry that she still doesn't know his whereabouts. The terror that they will all die in a matter of hours. These emotions flash through her in quick secession, then flash out into a blank numbness.

She drains the rest of her drink and orders another glass of anesthetic. If all there is to feel in the end is pain, it's better not to feel anything at all.

5:00 AM

Anju lies on her bed, Kafei's head resting against her shoulder, and she again catches the scent of jasmine tea and fine ink that permeates his house - amazingly that it still lingers on him after a month away. His hand slides atop hers and their fingers intertwine.

"Do you recall," he asks in his child's voice, "the first time we met?"

She does, and he knows that she does. They were barely school-aged at the time. He didn't want to go home to a house where he would simply be ignored by two parents too busy to ask how his day went, so after class he used his Keaton mask to explore the town. "I went up to the roof of the inn to read a book, and when I opened the door, you were already there."

"As I recall, you hit me with that book." There is something of a smile in his tone.

That playfulness slips into her own voice. "As _I_ recall, that book was about the abilities of Keatons, including possession and changing into human form. I was simply taking preventive action."

"Then it must have been a very thorough book, because it was heavy and it _hurt_."

Anju straight-out laughs now. "You're lucky I didn't give you a concussion, you spooked me that much." But the amusement does not last for long and her face slowly sobers. "I missed you."

"I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let my pride keep me from communicating with you."

"I'm glad you're here now."

The adrenaline is ebbing from her system, and she yawns softly. It has been two very long and sleepless nights, and in her lover's presence even death does not seem a threat.

"You should sleep," he urges. "I don't think it will matter in the end whether you are awake for the final moment or not."

She mumbles something he doesn't catch and holds him a bit tighter.

"Or," Kafei amends, "we could both sleep, and either we will wake up together to a miraculous sunrise, or our last memory will be a peaceful one."

"I'd like that," she whispers.

She drifts off with her not-child husband curled against her, her hand resting on his hair, and dreams of daylight.


End file.
